VIVID
by Kenitence
Summary: They said he wouldn't come back. C: (Steampunk AU with Ciel and Sebastian) Rating may change.
1. Flower's Note

_I want to know what this life is for._

The man's eyes; starlight glinted off of them—They were opened, Shock teasing at the corners, and glittering.

_That way, even if the world breaks, I can still use it._

Rainbow glitter: All of everything and all of Everything's amusement. His lips, lewd, only stretched further against canines.

"Are those thoughts suitable for the dinner table, _Bocchan_?"

Blue, blue, eyes jutted out a glare at him. He wondered if he could take the force of those pupils and halt them against his palm. Ciel's rage could make him _bleed_. And when his blood would fall to the ground, in husky, dark lashes, he knew that Ciel would only get drunk on it. So he tucked away the nonsensical pang that tittered at the edges of his ears and fingers; and donned his smirk once more.

If Lady Night could splay her robe and cock her hip down at the dancers, she would still have to bend very, very far before ever reaching eye level with Sebastian's emotions.

"_Mendokusai na_," came Ciel's low whine, as he left his sweets—untouched—at the refreshments table and began his ceremonial walk through crowds of nobles and their fawning families. The boy had, through his own devices, elicited terms from Tanaka's native language that others would deem less than polite. "I thought my butler would surely be able to differentiate between two pieces of furniture by this stage of his career." Overzealous girls gave high-pitched rasps of breath vaguely similar to laughter, twitching side to side to make sure that Lady Elizabeth was not nearby.

"If you would pause for a moment," Sebastian said as Ciel's feet stuttered and gambled, cold and callow, on whatever path might expose him to the least amount of people as was socially acceptable. The butler's fingers brushed his master's shoulder, bending against the cloth drunkenly before he pointed one at Ciel's right eye. Magic gave a submissive sizzle before the teenager's eyes turned fully human again.

"It's sloppy to let your emotions show." Sebastian's teasing whisper was slickened with glee. He would be _sure_ to schedule more such engagements if it meant such displays of otherwise unfelt thoughts.


	2. Idiotic Majesty

"Exactly what idiotic majesty is this, Sebastian?" Ceil drawled: yeah no I just wanted to start off like this

And this is how I got my laughs for today. Jfklasd with 38 minutes left in the day to boot.

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Sunlight splashed—diluted watercolors. The teenager sprawled, endless cacophony, against his sheets—pure white; Sebastian had whim-ed so; so that his master could seek repose in snow: Artifice. Ciel's tongue, from pale, sullen lips, quivered, teasing suspended drops of dust. _Golden and antique._ His butler observed, standing parallel shadowed wall.

"Sebastian," he muttered, his voice aching, "hurry and turn off the _goddamned sun_."

"Ah, but," Sebastian gave life to the words with the hole that pulsed in his throat and breathing of his cheeks. There was no reason to be attentive to the boy's antics. "I am afraid that the sun…" His words meandered; Ceil had turned over, onto his stomach, and was pressing his cheek, his eyes desperately, blearily closed—_a mewling kitten_, Sebastian thought—against a telephone handset. The cord shrugged against his chin; the boy took a rich, imposed breath in protest of the irritation to his skin.

When his mouth, open, curled to reply to his conversant, Sebastian could see that his words, unsaid, clung, hampered, to the liquid bubble of a rashly rejected—sulking—yawn. Sleep's sap.

A nameless thing in Sebastian wanted to hear Ciel's noise: A cluttered, vibrant scream held taut to neon, punkish silence; the want was _alive_ in him. But it knew itself for only a moment; the next, the butler had relieved his master, and was speaking with the caller in a cliché template of business affairs. Modern reverie.

"Young master, an appointment has been…" Oh, how clumsy. The young master had dressed himself while his eyes had been averted.

But he scoffed and plucked an eyelash from Ceil—It had been in a fallen, dangling plight, and the butler's lips twitched in self-mockery as his fingers twirled the hair.

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This does have a real plot.


	3. Solo Nurture

Sebastian's eyes flickered; murder, shining, flitting to and fro; a customer delighted, content, with the array of goods that had been presented to them.

"Pardon me, my lord?"

"You're dismissed. I'll go see the Undertaker by myself." The boy was reclining, languid but for a spritely energy coursing through him, on the sheets that the butler had only a few moments before, arranged to strict perfection: Strict, unyielding; a schoolteacher cordlessly hiding. Yet the boy; his impish eyes had the nerves to bend them—Nerves he'd thieved from another; Sebastian was sure that he was at an absence of the things themselves. A scone, held lightly in the imprisoning members, chandelier, of Ciel's hand, shook stoutly, slightly, from his jaded breathing. Taunting.

"I presume that there are a few wayward participants from last night's celebration snoring around. It would be good of you to see them out after they have breakfasted and recovered themselves. Oh, but," his eyes crinkled like fabric; that a musing finger had grazed. "If Lady Elizabeth wishes to play, remind her to be gentle. I order you." He jumped, nimble, down from the bed, his bare feet provoking the carpet to chatter away with its rustles as if a cat had graced the floor, rather than a demon. (Lost summer wind.) Amid those projected, fake cloth grasses his toes meandered, scornlessly lazy, as he preyed for footwear. There was no stimulation from their mental link; a useless chain.

The separate sides of Sebastian's jaw assaulted each other; his chin bowed down, though.

Secrets. The young master was keeping secrets, all by himself.

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"Oh, Sebastian, there you are!" A songbird rang turbid-clear from Lady Elizabeth's throat. She'd stolen their vocals; none of the devices dared to sing around her anymore.

"My lady…" The butler halted outside the kitchen, the crook of his eyebrows betraying bewilderment at the observation of a maze of unadapting, panicked mechanical staff. His arm twitched, outward, to fetter one from its descent to the ground as its cogs produced an increasingly jumbled ruckus.

"Ceil told me that he would be delighted to sample my cooking!" Her grin was one to cast shadow on the sun itself.

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The air was bright; light molested it, sighing in mock bliss. Its coiffure, of leaves and smoke, slanted in diligent contemplation as city inhabitants scurried, rolling, to their tasks. None recognized the Phantomhive Earl as he joined their luxurious system, striding loosely.

He broke away from the crowd fluidly, as if a child had dragged a twig along soil to irrigate a garden. Such a child would've had freckles; would've had upturned lips with a close-mouthed grin, crooked. His own upturned, chin, cast benevolent shadow along the arches and hollows of his throat as pleasant swathes* of still air pounded their knuckles, slow, between his shoulders to usher the boy within.

*swath—I wanted to use 'wasps' like a broader version of 'wisp' but like yeah. that isn't a word ;-; but like when I was thinking of it. like just open ur mouth and go 'waaasp' isn't that such a nice sensation? ^^;

is this enough of a plot for u promocat? C; I put like 3 scenes in here im so happy LOL

as always; review love.


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